


The Question

by ultharkitty



Category: Babylon 5, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Morden walks into a bar, and meets Optimus Prime.</p><p>Written for the 2013 intoabar challenge.</p><p>Set after season 4 for G1, and AU for Babylon 5.</p><p>With thanks to naboru for giving it a look over <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Question

It was the end of the third day of the Intra-Galactic Peace Symposium, and Optimus Prime had retreated to his favourite small bar in Iacon for a well-deserved drink. 

"Excuse me," a voice intruded. 

Optimus looked down, and further down. A human male beamed up at him from the shade of the next seat over. 

"I understand you're the leader of your faction," he said. "May I join you for a moment?" 

"Please do," Optimus replied. "Mr...?" 

"Morden," the newcomer said, and his smile widened. 

Optimus waited until he had scaled the human-sized steps to the top of the bar stool before speaking. "Are you with the Earth delegation, Mr Morden?"

"Ah, no," Morden said. "And no, I'm not a journalist either." He gestured to the door, where Cliffjumper and Hound sat as unobtrusive guardians of Optimus' quiet time. "Your friends were keen to establish that fact before they let me in."

Optimus nodded. "Then why _are_ you here, Mr Morden?"

"To ask you a question," Morden replied. He turned him smile on the bartender, and ordered one of the few human-safe drinks on the menu. He paid cash, the Cybertronian credits over-large in his hands. 

Optimus waited. The human projected confidence, sharply dressed and smoothly groomed. He seemed unfazed by the scale of the Autobots around him, or the bar and its array of pungent beverages, most of which were toxic to humans. 

"It's a simple question," Morden said. His drink arrived, a mildly alcoholic mixer the manager bought in for Marissa. He toyed with the glass, and smiled up again at Optimus. "What do you want?"

"Peace," Optimus replied without a pause. "Universal peace, and freedom for all sentient life."

Morden picked up his drink, lips pursed. To either side of him on the stool, the air shimmered as though heated. 

"Is that the wish of Optimus Prime leader of the Autobots, or Optimus Prime the individual?" he asked. 

"I make no distinction," Optimus replied. He watched the human sip, and cycled the filters on his optics. One small shift into infra-red gave him the heat signatures of two new beings. When he combined that with a full spectrum electromagnetic analysis, a more complex pattern began to emerge. 

"Peace and freedom," Morden mused. "Do you really think they're compatible?"

"I believe so," Optimus said.

His guest's hidden companions were spindly and strange; neither human nor humanoid, they resembled no alien Optimus had ever encountered. Indeed, they put him in mind of the Golden Age, of legends carried down from the Quintessons, and the nightmares of long-dead prophets. A chill hit his core, and he ran a search of his databanks. 

Morden took a sip of his drink. "What about the freedom to make war?" he said. 

"That is not freedom." Optimus pushed warm air through his vents in a sigh. "We Cybertronians have warred a long time. Believe me when I say that the freedom to make war is just another set of chains."

Morden's eyebrows raised; his hidden companions remained silent and still. "There I will have to respectfully disagree," he said. He took another sip, his smile returning full force. "How do you propose making peace?"

"This symposium is one of a number of practical steps," Optimus began, but the human shook his head. 

"No," he said. "Where are the Decepticons? You can't make peace if your enemy won't come to the table." He didn't wait for Optimus to reply, but carried on in the same calm, confident tone. "You'll have to force their hand."

"Violence only begets violence," Optimus said. 

"And you've fought a war lasting millions of years making only defensive manoeuvres?" Morden asked. 

By the door, Cliffjumper turned to watch them. He pinged Optimus on a private channel, offering assistance. Optimus responded that he should wait, and spoke aloud to Morden. "You know we have not," he said. "Who are you, Mr Morden?"

The smile turned sour for a fraction of a second. "A traveller," Morden replied. "I've come a long way to talk to you."

"And your companions?" Optimus asked. The creatures seemed to look at each other. His databanks completed the search, returning only the memory of rumours and the shadow of suspicion. For a moment he regretted the sacrifice of the Matrix, but he doubted even the combined wisdom of the Primes would lay these creatures' secrets bare. 

Morden stiffened. "My companions," he began, as his smile faded and his forehead began to glisten. "They've travelled a long way to hear your answer."

Cliffjumper slid off his stool. He leaned casually against the door jamb, his weapons close to hand. 

"They have heard it," Optimus said. 

Whatever else Morden was, he was not ignorant of social cues. He abandoned the remains of his drink, and descended the stairs of his stool to the floor.

His companions followed.

"We could be of assistance," he said.

Optimus shook his head. "You could not."

Mr Morden's friends drew close, their chittering an itch at the edge of Optimus' hearing. His chest ached, a chill spreading from the vacant space where the Matrix used to sit; a warning, perhaps. One he should heed. 

"I'll be back," Morden said. "In case you change your mind."

"No," Optimus responded, and Cliffjumper stepped away from the door. "You will not."


End file.
